She could not see Paul, and when a porter opened the cab and helped her to alight, it was on her tongue to ask the man if he had seen her husband. But no, she would not do that. She must look for him herself, so that she might be the first to see him. Oh, yes, she must be the very first to see him, and she was now obstinately determined to ask no one.
The porter brought round the truck, and wheeled the luggage onto the platform, and Greta and Mrs. Drayton followed it. Then the wide eyes that half smiled and looked half afraid beneath their trembling lids glanced anxiously around. No, Paul was not there.
"What is the time?" she asked, her eyes still wandering over the bustling throng about her.
"Ten to twelve, miss," announced the porter.
"Oh," she said, with a sigh of relief, "then he will soon be here."
"Will you sit in the waiting-room, miss?" asked the porter; and almost unconsciously she followed him when he led the way. Mrs. Drayton hobbled behind her.
"What did he say about being ill?" she asked, when they were left together.
"That he was only a bit dizzy. Mayhap he's noways 'customed to illness," said the landlady.
"That is true. And what did you say then?"
"I coaxed him to rest him a bit, and take a drop o' summat, and he smiled and said, 'Thank you, my good woman.'